college 'verse
by onceuponaplot
Summary: university au / A series of loosely connected drabbles
1. start

_Originally posted in November 2014 as part of a 30 day writing challenge on Archive of Our Own._

* * *

"It's due _tomorrow_!"

Steve jumps at the sudden noise, and he scrambles to stop his coffee from spilling all over his linguistics notebook. There's a tiny puddle in the corner, but if he's honest, a few drops of coffee is nothing compared to the time he managed to drop a slice of pepperoni pizza on his calculus review sheet.

Coffee stabilized and moved farther from both his notes and any hands that could knock it over, Steve twists in his seat.

Bucky stands at the door of the study room, hair wild and backpack hanging haphazardly off of one shoulder. He's got his laptop clutched under one arm and is wearing, Steve notes, a pair of pajama pants with an alarming number of yellow ducks printed on them. He debates with himself for a moment if he should say anything or just let Bucky explain on his own

"What's due tomorrow?" Steve asks after a few seconds of Bucky standing motionless at the door. At the question Bucky startles, all but leaps across the room, and he begins unloading his stuff on the other side of the table.

Steve's about to ask again when Bucky says, "The paper Pierce assigned last week! I thought it was due next Thursday, and I had that thermo midterm today so I studied for that first, right? And I figured hey, I can just finish the paper this weekend once I don't have anything else to study for! Except Pierce changed the date for the paper when they asked him to speak at this conference on fucking Mars, because god forbid the TA collects the papers instead of him!"

Bucky punctuates his last sentence with a sound that's almost a laugh. "I'm such an _idiot_. And you know the best part? He announced it in class and sent out an email about it last Friday, and I somehow still managed to completely forget about it until Sam asked me how many non-web references I used ten minutes ago while we're brushing our teeth. And it's due tomorrow. Frickin' fan _tas_ tic."

Under different circumstances, Steve would laugh at the comical way Bucky turns on his computer, pulls out a short stack of textbooks and flips each one open to a specific set of pages in about fifteen seconds. With things as they are, Steve just casts a longing glance at his coffee – still fresh enough to have steam rising slowly from the lid – and sighs before pushing it in Bucky's direction.

The sincere smile he gets is more than worth it, as is Bucky's contented hum after the first sip. "You are a lifesaver."

"You'll get it done."

"I have eleven hours, Steve, and that's before I take out any time I need to go to my other classes."

Steve knocks his foot against Bucky's shin under the table, doesn't bother to hide his grin when Bucky ducks his head and nudges Steve back. Steve points at Bucky's computer, repeats himself and adds, "Just start writing."


	2. floral

The arrangement is easily half the size of the guy – Steve, going by the name on his student ID – standing on the other side of the counter, if not more. It's huge – large woven basket with a wide assortment of flowers that easily add a foot to the thing's total height.

Steve looks floored, staring at the huge bundle of flowers sitting on the counter, and the guy standing next to him – dark jeans and darker hair tied back in a bun – looks about ready to collapse on the floor laughing.

"Stevie," the guy wheezes a minute later, "Stevie, who sent you this?"

Bruce, because he's helpful likes that, helps Steve to find the card tucked between some daisies and daffodils. His brows furrow as he reads whatever's written there, eyes flicking briefly to the flowers before they focus on the card once more.

Steve's friend is waiting patiently, examining the ridiculous assortment with an unreadable expression. Bruce can't tell if he's about to burst out laughing again or if he's planning the best ways to never let Steve forget this odd development.

"Even _I_ don't get you this many flowers, punk."

Punk, Bruce thinks, is not the word he would use to describe the tiny guy in oversized flannel and thick-rimmed glasses that anyone would have a hard time describing as anything but 'hipster'. Punk is, in fact, probably the last word he would think of.

"You _don't_ get me flowers, Bucky," Steve mutters, flipping the card over in his hand.

Bucky rolls his eyes, crowds in close behind the smaller man so he can squint at the card himself. "Well, yeah. I know better. You'd be wheezing in like ten minutes. So who's trying to get on your good side?"

"You remember the guy who hit my bike when we were at the gallery last month?" Steve asks.

"Sorta. Tony Park or something, right? Wait a sec - this is from _him_? He just scratched the paint a little, there wasn't even a dent!"

Steve hands the card over, and Bruce hides his burst of laughter with a cough when Bucky's eyes bug out.

The two start whispering back and forth, and Bruce would really love to see this play out some more, but it's at that moment that a group of what are obviously freshmen show up at the package pickup center.

"Excuse me," Bruce says. Bucky and Steve glance up at him, broken from their conversation. "Sorry, but I have to help the next people in line. You're going to have to figure out the flowers somewhere else."

Bruce watches, curiosity still piqued, as Bucky picks up the basket and follows Steve from the building, neck craned so he can see around the flowers. He shakes his head as they disappear from sight and the pack of freshmen approaches, chattering loudly.

The sad thing is, he can't even say it's the oddest thing he's seen this week.


	3. rattle

"It's creepy down there," Bucky whines and Steve can't help but roll his eyes.

"Buck, it's a laundry room."

"And that means it can't be creepy?" Bucky flops down on the bed, and the force is enough to shift it a few inches and hit Steve's desk. Steve sighs before he glances Bucky's way. The other boy is sprawled over his comforter, boots propped up on the other end of the frame.

Bucky's pout is in full swing and Steve is not falling for it this time, absolutely not.

"Swear to god, Steve, it's haunted. I'd bet my life on it."

"Bucky-"

"Shit happens down there! Today something was rattling-"

"Probably a loose screw on one of the machines."

"And last time I swear something moved outta the corner of my eye-"

"Someone walking down the hall," Steve mutters, turning back to his physics report to get frustrated some more by capacitors.

"And my clothes get moved sometimes. I'll put them in one dryer and they'll be in a different one when I go to pick up my stuff!"

Steve tugs off his glasses when he stares Bucky down this time, levelling his best unimpressed stare. He's been working on it for a few weeks now, and he's hoping that it strikes at least some sense into his friend. "Bucky, you leave your shit in the dryer for the entire day in a dorm laundry room. I'd be more surprised if your stuff _didn't_ get moved."

Bucky groans and twists on Steve's bed so his chin is resting on the edge of the mattress, pillow clutched to his chest. "Ste-eve. You're supposed to tell me how I'm an excellent ghost hunter, not think of explanations for everything I'm noticin'. You're no use."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm an awful best friend. Quit rollin' around or you're gonna stink up my sheets, Barnes."

Bucky sticks out his tongue and wiggles some more. He even goes so far as to rub Steve's pillow all over his hair, and it's a static-y mess by the time he's done, hair sticking up at all angles. Steve smirks.

"Don't you have public speaking across campus in…seven minutes?" Steve asks with a glance at his watch. He laughs when Bucky flails, grabbing his backpack from where he tossed it by the door upon entering. Laughs harder as Bucky darts out the door, hands flying to smooth his hair back down.

"I _will_ prove that it's ghosts, Rogers!"

"Get to class!"


	4. scarlet

_Everything_ is pink. His shirts, his boxers, his socks. Hell, even Bucky's _towel_ is pink now, and it makes no sense.

He's still staring as his wet clothes when someone stomps into the room and tosses their laundry onto the floor with a huff. Bucky looks over his shoulder briefly, sees a brown-haired girl tossing clothes into a washer a little farther down.

She glances up at him a moment later, frowns until she catches sight of Bucky's newly-pink sweatshirt dripping water on the floor. Bucky watches her grin and then try to hide it by ducking her head enough that her hair obscures her face.

It's not worth calling her out so instead Bucky sighs down at his sweatshirt and wonders what went wrong.

"I didn't put any colors in the wash," Bucky mutters to himself. He'd done everything the way his ma taught him – separating the clothes by color, a splash of bleach with the lights – and now it's all pink. Bucky doesn't even _own_ anything red enough to cause this.

"Someone might've left something in there by accident. Did you check before you put your stuff in?"

Bucky jolts, glances over at the girl again. Her hamper is empty, laundry spinning around in the washer she stands by. She points at the sweatshirt. "If you didn't put something in, then it must've already been there," she explains. "Did you check to make sure no one had left anything before you put your clothes in?"

Bucky's shoulders sag and he buries his face in the damp sweatshirt. "Shit," he groans. Then he tosses the sweatshirt down into his laundry basket. He empties the rest of the washer too, and he's gotten almost everything out before his finds it.

'It' is a scarf that is so red Bucky can't think to call it anything other than scarlet.

Bucky sighs, tosses the thing into his basket – the damage is done now, and he may as well get a new scarf out of the deal – and starts lugging it all over to the row of dryers on the other side of the room.

The girl is nowhere in sight, her hamper tucked into the space between the wall and the last washer, and Bucky feels disappointed that he can't thank her for her help as he starts to load his laundry into one of the machines and swipes his ID to start the cycle.

Bucky scowls briefly at the dryer and the occasional flashes of red as the scarf is tumbled around with the rest of his things.

No wonder his ma always got frustrated on the weeks they didn't help her with the wash.

Bucky sets an alarm on his phone to alert him five minutes before his dryer finishes its cycle and after a moment's deliberation opens up his note application.

With care he types in:

laundry – 1  
bucky – 0


	5. tease

"Where's Sam?" Steve asks as he walks into the living room. Clint glances up, frowns at Steve after peeking around him briefly.

"What do you mean?" Clint lowers his textbook, highlighter shoved behind his ear for the time being.

"Um," Steve pauses, frowning himself. "Have you seen him?"

Clint watches him in silence, unblinking, for too long and Steve begins shifting from foot to foot. Clint points to the door Steve just came through.

Sam cracks up when Steve looks back to see him sitting cross-legged on his bed, homework spread out before him. Clint joins in, and Steve slowly turns redder and redder. "Dude," Sam wheezes after a few minutes, laughter finally subsiding. "Dude, did you just go and ask _where I am_? I've been working in here like ten feet away from you for the past two hours!"

"I thought you left a while ago!" Steve says. He spins to pin Clint with a glare when he begins laughing anew, his textbook falling to the ground with a loud thump. "I saw him go to the kitchen!"

"To get water," Sam shouts from the room. "I came back a minute later, Steve."

"How many times is this now?" Clint chimes in. Steve doesn't answer and pointedly doesn't watch as Clint reaches down to reclaim his textbook.

From down the hall, Bruce's muffled "Three," drifts down to them. Steve shakes his head and throws himself onto his bed, face buried in the comforter.

"It's not that funny," he sighs when Clint and Sam are still laughing five minutes later.

"You literally have to walk past me to get to the door," Sam retorts. "And this is the fourth time."

"In my defense, that one time I had my headphones in when you came back and your toe was literally the only part of you that wasn't under a blanket."

Clint calls, " _Four_ times."

Steve groans. "Are you _ever_ going to let me live this down?"

"Not a chance, Rogers!"


End file.
